Elidinis' Dream
by Connor Asfadjnis
Summary: This is the story of how the River Elid began to run once more.


The first to return to the smoking plain where Tumeken made his final stand was Elidinis.

She walked through the scorched earth barefooted, and where she walked, the river followed. She called to it, or the memory of it, and it answered. Life sprung up where it could, and where it couldn't, it drank the water of life and remembered, at least.

For a while, she walked alone. Her children had hidden themselves, Icthlarin to grieve and Amascut to – well, she didn't know what Amascut was doing. Her husband's creations, too, were gone; only she remained. Perhaps that was fitting.

She had time to grieve, as well. But not for very long. Tumeken's explosion had all but destroyed the northern portion of the River Elid, boiled it away into nothingness and left nothing but buried riverbed behind, and her people needed water.

It wasn't long before people began to join her. Some of the Menaphites had settled in the wastelands, or perhaps they were there to search for sons and daughters and brothers and sisters lost in the war. At first, they watched her warily. She didn't reach out to them, but smiled as she passed to indicate that they were welcome.

They began to follow her one by one, first at a distance, then side-by-side. Mercenaries, too, hired to repel Zaros, began to follow her. She welcomed them as if they were her own, because they too mourned what they had lost.

Occasionally they stopped, because humans needed rest. During these times she would walk amongst her followers and distribute water and let them weep on her shoulder. She listened to them as they spoke of lost loved ones, of the pain and grief of war and some of how they feared what they had become, what they had done. She held them all to her breast and let them all feel peace again, at least for a moment.

Over time, more joined her. She walked slowly, to give the land behind her the time it needed to heal, and she supposed that word of what she was doing must have gotten out somehow. (Elidinis suspected her son had spread the word. She kept tabs on him and his sister, although Amascut had begun to resist her, and she figured that he must do the same with her.)

The small group that had surrounded her for the first week of her trek swelled. Elidinis counted almost a hundred within the first few days, and then gave up as it continued to grow. There was no point in counting.

She continued in much the same way as she had at the start. The river behind her swelled, guttering and weak at first, into life with each step. Mostly it was enough for the river to feel the presence of its patron, but sometimes coaxing it through the devastation her husband had left behind was difficult, so she paused to call it forth, encourage it that the danger was gone and it could grow again. It didn't always listen, but she always convinced it in the end.

At the end of the second week, Icthlarin found her.

His arrival was quiet. The Menaphite didn't even notice him at first, but they began making hushed noises of wonder long before he had reached his mother at the center of the group.

He stared at her, amber eyes meeting blue.

"Hello, mother," he said, voice strained.

Elidinis approached him. She noticed, with some dismay, that he flinched away ever so slightly from her.

Once she stood in front of him, they stared at each other. Icthlarin's breathing became heavier.

Almost as if on cue, as soon as she held her arms open, the god of the dead melted into them, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Silent sobs shivered up and down his body, and Elidinis found that she was crying, too. Where her tears met the earth, a patch of green appeared.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Shh," Elidinis said. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

"This is all my fault."

"Camel dung. The Mahjarrat made their choice. You did what you had to to save our people."

Elidinis could tell that he didn't believe her, not yet. That was OK. He had heard it, possibly for the first time, and that was what mattered for now.

"Will you have me?" Icthlarin asked her. He sounded nervous, like Elidinis had any business at this point driving more family away. "I would like to help, but my domain is death, not life."

"Of course," Elidinis murmured. "Of course you are welcome."

They separated, and Elidinis took her place once again. Icthlarin walked beside her, vigilant and terribly sad. The growing crowd, now nearly a thousand strong, silent during their meeting, began to babble amongst themselves, trading stories about their losses. A father tearfully told a mercenary about his daughter, slain by the Zarosians in battle, and the mercenary solemnly swore to remember. Two men, their city annihilated by the blast, ruefully reminded each other about the gleaming white plazas and towering fountains and the happiness they'd once had.

Along the way, they buried corpses. Harold Death had long since come for them, and Icthlarin had judged them. Only the flesh remained. Most had been destroyed when the explosion came, but a few remained, in varying stages of burnt. Most wore the colors of the Menaphites, but they happened across a few Zarosians, too.

One of her followers went to spit on a Zarosian corpse, but Elidinis laid a hand on her shoulder. "We are all victims of gods," she said softly. "The war is over. Let's end it here."

So they buried it. Before the grave was filled in, Elidinis leaned over it like always and spoke.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I am sorry this has happened to you, that you have been forced to give up so much. I hope you go to your rest in peace now, and forget those you held allegiance to before." With that, the crowd filled the grave with dirt and proceeded.

Soon, the minor gods followed suit. Apmeken came first, brought the crowd bawdy stories and a comforting presence. She juggled and told jokes and, when the sadness couldn't be held back any longer, gave hugs as wide as tree trunks and told everyone that everything was going to be OK and reminded them to take comfort in each other, and what they still had.

Next, noble Het listened and promised protection. Wise Scabaras told stories of far-flung places and taught everyone how best to deal with grief. Worldly Crondis brought them food once the food the followers brought ran out.

During the nights, Elidinis obliged them time to make fires and drink and sing songs. Sad songs, mostly, but every now and then someone would tell an enraptured crowd about something good that had happened, or an old story about Apmeken bringing happiness or even just a wise miller who outsmarted his enemies. The gods would listen as intently as the humans.

There was somebody else, who followed the procession from a distance, whose presence felt like a crushing fog. Icthlarin knew his sister best, and cast out a welcome to her. Her physical presence retreated as if burned, but he could tell she was still there. He didn't mind, though.

Finally, they reached the pass. Elidinis lowered her hands. "I can do no more," she proclaimed. The River Elid stretched behind them, restored to its former glory. A month had passed since Elidinis had begun her trek, and she felt dizzy with the exertion and the triumph.

The people rejoiced. In sight of Kharid-Et, they began an impromptu party and celebrated the return of the Elid, and perhaps the first step in reclaiming what had been lost.

Elidinis settled herself on a hill in sight of the party and watched, a tentative smile on her face. Ichtlarin sat next to her, and she put her arm around him (despite being by now shorter) and pulled him close.

Another god appeared behind them. Elidinis just smiled. "Hello, Amascut."

The goddess tentatively made her way to the two, but stopped short. "You shouldn't allow me here," she taunted. "You don't know what I might do."

"You're my daughter," Elidinis said simply. "And Tumeken's, and the desert's. Are you not welcome to mourn them, just for a moment?"

"You are wrong to be compassionate," she said, but this time hesitantly.

"Perhaps," Elidinis whispered. "But perhaps there is no such thing as wrong compassion." She waved her daughter over.

Amascut walked over, slowly at first, then quickly, and sat down as though she suspected someone was going to change their mind. "I wouldn't have done this," she whispered.

Elidinis just hummed and pulled her under her other arm.

As she watched the party progress, and surveyed the Elid, whole and pure, she reflected that there was much left to do. She could never repair all that had been destroyed in a thousand Ages. Her heart ached like a million suns for her husband, and for her people. She glanced at her children, Icthlarin dozing off like he used to when she held him as a child and Amascut attentive and thoughtful, and at her people, happy for the first time in a long time, and she reflected that you had to start somewhere.


End file.
